One Man's Dream
by dittypiddler
Summary: Lee and Amanda search for the perfect house.


Title: One Man's Dream 

Author: Rita (dittypiddler)

Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King belong to Shoot the Moon Productions and Warner Brothers. No infringement intended. "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" is by William Butler Yeats.

A huge thanks to Cheryl, for catching my goofs and putting up with my endless re-piddles, and thanks to Miriam and the MEAP Team for the final beta.

Rating: PG

Summary: Companion piece to "I Prefer the Moonlight." Lee and Amanda search for the perfect house.

Timeframe: Post fourth season. Marriage is public.

Feedback: Always.

**One Man's Dream**

"Yes, Mrs. Conners, it's a very nice house." Lee surveyed the living room of the 'very nice house.' Perhaps twenty feet long, twelve or fourteen feet wide. A diminutive electric-log fireplace burrowed into a corner, as though it was embarrassed to be there. He didn't blame it.

The other rooms were equally boring--nondescript bedrooms, a kitchen with so much stainless steel it seemed better suited to the twenty-first century. Or maybe the twenty-second. The whole place left him cold.

"I believe it meets _all_ your requirements," the woman gushed. "Four bedrooms, a den in the basement, _and_ . . ." She paused, as though preparing to announce the winner of the World Series. "It sits on a _very_ spacious lot--almost a _quarter_ acre!"

It sounded like the Cubs won. Lee smiled and tried to appear interested. "Uh, we'll let you know."

"Yes, well, you do that, Mr. Stetson." She fluffed her blonde curls and twittered on. "But a house in such a _nice_ neighborhood and close to _good _schools and with _every _convenience." She sniffed. "It's _not _going to stay on the market for long, you know."

"We'll get back to you if we're interested. Shall we go?" He took Amanda's hand and led her out of the house, ignoring the real estate agent's garrulous sales pitch echoing behind them.

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"Okay, big fella. What was wrong with this one?"

Lee pulled the 'Vette away from the curb. "There was nothing wrong with it, Amanda." Mentally, he added, 'If you're Buck Rogers.' "It's just not what I had in mind."

"Sweetheart, I wish you'd give me a little more idea of what you _do_ have in mind." Her hand squeezed his knee. "We've been looking at houses for weeks, or is it months? I've lost track."

"I know, honey." He lifted her hand to his lips. "A house should have . . .umm . . . _character_." He expelled a frustrated breath. "I can't explain it. But I'll know it when I see it." Giving her hand a slight squeeze, he turned his attention back to the road.

"You be sure to tell me when you do." Lee could hear the teasing in her voice.

"You'll be the first to know, Mrs. Stetson." He laughed and shook his head, wishing he knew himself.

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Lee gazed at the flowers he'd placed on his parents' graves--red carnations for his father, yellow roses for his mother. It seemed a strange combination. But Mom had liked yellow roses.

His mind drifted back to a vivid childhood memory. Dad had come home with a dozen yellow roses, and Mom's smile lit up the whole room. She pinned a red carnation to Dad's lapel, and then they kissed. She looked so beautiful. They were going out. Lee couldn't remember where. A party perhaps. But he remembered Dad's smile when he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the love shining in Mom's eyes. Five-year-old Lee didn't understand that look then. He just knew it made him feel warm all over. But now he understood it--the same love he saw mirrored in Amanda's eyes.

_I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,_

_And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;_

_Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, _

_And live alone in the bee-loud glade. _

That poem had been running through Lee's head all day. It was Mom's favorite. The lamp cast a gentle radiance on her lovely features as she read to him. Her face always assumed a dreamy expression when she read the poem. As though she was thinking of a special place, or maybe a feeling. At the time, he'd just loved listening to the musical lilt in her voice.

_And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, _

_Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; _

_There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, _

_And evening full of the linnet's wings. _

Considering his parents' jobs, Lee understood the longing his mother must have felt for such a place--the same longing he felt. A sanctuary. Somewhere he and Amanda could escape from the wickedness and violence they encountered almost daily. Where the outside world could never intrude. Ballgames in the backyard. Maybe even horses. He could teach Phillip and Jamie to ride. They could just be a normal family. He grimaced. As normal as a spy family could be anyway.

_I will arise and go now, for always night and day_

_I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; _

_While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, _

_I hear it in the deep heart's core. _

A lake. Fishing with the boys . . . picnics by the water . . . moonlight boat rides with Amanda by his side. Did this mystical place really exist? Lee sighed and shook his head. He doubted it. But it was a beautiful dream--for Mom. And perhaps for him, too.

"You look like you're a million miles away."

When he felt Amanda's hand on his arm, he glanced up and smiled. "No. I was just . . . remembering." He slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, kissing her forehead. "I'm ready to go if you are."

"Yeah. I want to see the boys before Joe picks them up."

As they strolled back to the car, Amanda's voice lifted his spirits, and her smile filled him with the same warmth that five-year-boy had felt.

"Did I tell you Mr. Johnson's taking Mother to a casino tonight? I guess that's what you do in Atlantic City, but can you imagine my mother gambling?" Her eyes widened. "After what happened with Harry Berrigan, I never thought she'd set foot in a place like that again. But, you know, I think she may be getting serious about Mr. Johnson. Well, he's a very nice man, and--"

Lee silenced what promised to be an 'Amandaramble' with a kiss. Releasing her lips, he grinned and winked at her. "Hmmm. A whole evening alone with my wife. I'm sure we can find something to, umm, occupy ourselves."

"Yeah, right, Stetson." Her elbow poked his ribs.

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After parking the 'Vette behind the Wagoneer, Lee hurried around to the passenger side. He helped Amanda out of the low-slung car, and she dangled his keys in front of his face.

"Thanks." He grinned and pocketed the keys. Placing his arm around her waist, he paused and glanced at the cramped area. "You know, honey, it's really inconvenient to move one car to get the other one out. We need a bigger driveway, a bigger garage." He sighed and gazed at the modest house and yard. "Hell, we need a bigger everything."

"I know, sweetheart. And we'll have all that . . . eventually."

Hearing a voice calling her name, Amanda leaned toward him and whispered, "There's Mrs. Gilstrap. Wonder what she wants."

Lee cringed. "Oh, God. Run for it."

She gave his arm a discreet swat. "Lee, we can't be impolite to the neighbors."

"That's another thing we need--a place with no nosy neighbors." He grimaced. "I really don't want to hear about Edna Gilstrap's bursitis, her son--the rich podiatrist--or this week's beauty parlor gossip, including Myra Wilcox's blue hair."

"Ssshhh," Amanda hissed, nudging his shoulder. "She'll hear you."

"Yoo hoo! Amanda, dear." Mrs. Gilstrap shuffled up the sidewalk. "I've been meaning to talk to you, and your dear mother, about the church bake sale."

He watched with amusement as Amanda pasted on a smile. "Hello, Mrs. Gilstrap. I'm afraid my mother isn't home this weekend, and Lee and I are very busy house hunting. So I don't think we can be much help this year."

Mrs. Gilstrap pursed her thin lips and placed her hands on her hips. "But, dear, you know we always count on your wonderful poppyseed cake and your mouth-watering muffins. The bake sale wouldn't be a success without them." She folded her arms across her chest and pinned him with a no-nonsense stare. "And I know we'll need a big, strong man to help set up the booths."

Lee took a step back. "Ahh . . . well . . . what with house hunting and . . .umm . . . work, our free time is very, uh, limited." He cocked his head toward the house. "Isn't that the phone? I'd better get it. Excuse me, ladies." He sprinted to the front door, but not before catching Amanda's look of abandonment. Promising himself to make it up to her, he unlocked the door and dodged inside. Easing the curtains aside, he peeked through the window and saw Mrs. Ferguson scurrying up the sidewalk, closing in on Amanda.

As Amanda edged toward the house, the neighbors in hot pursuit, he shook his head in silent sympathy. Both ladies appeared to be berating his wife, and Amanda's face assumed an expression of quiet desperation. Time to rescue her.

He poked his head out the door. "Amanda! The phone's for you. It's long distance. Better hurry."

"Excuse me, ladies." Amanda dashed toward him and ducked into the house. "Thank you, sweetheart." She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly. "Is there really anyone on the phone?" She arched an eyebrow.

Pulling her close, he kissed the tip of her nose. "No, but I thought you needed rescuing. And I have my ways." He nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear and felt her shiver.

"Mmmm. You sure do." She sighed and leaned against him. "Those ladies don't seem to realize that with a full-time job, a family to take care of, and . . ." She winked at him. "A gorgeous hunk of man to keep happy, I don't have time anymore for all the community activities."

He smirked and tightened his arms around her. "Sounds like you have your priorities straight, Mrs. Stetson." As their lips met, her fingers combed through his hair.

"I wanna see Indiana Jones, worm brain!" Phillip and Jamie bounded down the stairs with the grace of an F-3 tornado.

"You've seen it a million times, dork face. I want to see something new!"

Lee groaned and rubbed his hand over his forehead. Placing two fingers between his lips, he blew a piercing whistle.

Phillip and Jamie stopped in mid-scuffle and stared at him.

Amanda laughed and placed a hand on each boy's shoulder. "Okay, fellas. I'm sure your father picked a movie you'll both enjoy. And he'll be here any minute, so you'd better be ready. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"I heard Joe say something about pizza, too." He gave his stepsons a conspiratorial wink. Pizza was always a safe compromise.

"All right!"

"Radical!"

Hearing a car horn, the boys vaulted out the door, shouting their good-byes.

"Don't slam the . . ." The door banged shut. "door." She finished, in a lame voice, and shook her head. Lee chuckled at his wife's long-suffering expression.

"Ahhh. Alone at last." He slid his hands up her back, across her shoulders, and into her hair. His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, and he gazed into her dark eyes--eyes he could drown in. Holding her face between his hands, he brushed his thumbs over her mouth before touching his lips to hers.

A shrilling sound penetrated his passion-clouded senses. Amanda beat her head against his shoulder.

Muttering a string of expletives, he grabbed the phone. "Stetson . . . Oh, hello, Mrs. Wilson . . . Uh-huh . . . We're kinda busy . . . oh, well, if it's urgent. Hold on, please." With a resigned shrug, he handed the phone to Amanda.

She rolled her eyes and covered the mouthpiece. "One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . ."

Lee stifled a laugh.

When she reached ten, Amanda squared her shoulders and lifted the receiver to her ear. "Hello, Mrs.Wilson. What can I do for you?"

His stomach rumbled, and he wandered into the kitchen in search of food. Knowing Amanda wouldn't escape from the P.T.A. president any time soon, he snagged a pound of hamburger from the refrigerator and headed for the backyard grill.

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"Mmmm. That was wonderful, sweetheart. Thank you for making dinner." Amanda set her wineglass on the picnic table, leaned over, and brushed her lips against his.

"You're welcome, my love. I expect to be amply rewarded later." Lee winked and reached for her.

A baseball landed in the salad bowl, sending bits of lettuce flying.

He jerked back. "What the hell!"

A small boy's head appeared over the fence.

"Sorry, Mr. Stetson. Sorry, Mrs. Stetson. Would you toss our ball back, please?"

Running his hand through his hair, he exhaled an exasperated breath. "Sure, Tommy." After wiping French dressing off the ball, he drew back his arm and threw the baseball.

"Thanks, Mr. Stetson." The boy's head disappeared, and the racket of a lively game ensued.

Lee buried his head in his hands. "Amanda, I swear I'm losing it. We work all week. And most weekends, the boys and Dotty are here. Not that I mind. You know I love our family. But the few times we do have alone, we're surrounded by neighbors, noise, and general aggravation." He raised his head and gave her a pleading look. "Wouldn't you like to make love under the stars, without worrying about anyone seeing us? Just once? Or take a walk, without constantly being waylaid by somebody wanting something? Wouldn't you like to come home to some peace and quiet for a change?"

"Of course, I would, sweetheart. But that's the way life is in the suburbs. You know that." She placed her hand on his arm, her expression troubled.

"Yeah, I know." Not wanting to upset his wife, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

The neighborhood clamor grew louder--car doors banged, dogs barked, voices carried as mothers called their children. Life in the suburbs, indeed.

"Let's go in before we get beaned by another baseball." Feeling disgruntled, he helped her clear the table.

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After placing the last dish in the cabinet, Amanda rubbed her hands together and glanced at the clock. It had been a long day--house hunting, then visiting the cemetery. Lee made regular visits now, and, lately, she'd noticed a pensive look on his face. The same expression she'd seen today--one he often wore. At dinner, he'd hinted at . . . something, then passed it off. But he seemed subdued afterward. She wished he'd talk about whatever was bothering him. It was unlike him to hide his feelings from her. She smiled to herself. Ironic thought. Hiding his feelings used to be a characteristic trait. But not anymore. Maybe searching for the perfect house was getting to him, too.

He'd know it when he saw it. Amanda chewed her cuticle, staring at the floor. If she knew what _it_ was, she might be able to help.

She made sure the back door was locked and switched off the light, pausing to pick up Lee's shoes. Some things never changed. Shaking her head, she carried the shoes to the den and sat them next to the couch.

"You left your shoes in the kitchen again, Stetson." She tapped him on the shoulder, trying to muster the stern expression usually reserved for the boys' offenses--like blowing up volcanoes.

"Sorry, honey." When he looked up from his book and gave her his 'guaranteed to squelch any annoyance' dimpled grin, her resolve melted, and she smiled back at him.

Ruffling his hair, she sat down and snuggled against him. His arm encircled her waist, drawing her closer. As she rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifted to his book, and she noted the contents. "I didn't know you read poetry." Lifting her head, she gazed into his eyes, feeling somewhat bewildered.

"I don't. I mean, I was just reading this poem." A slight blush crept up his cheeks. "It was my mom's favorite, and I guess . . .you know . . . visiting their graves . . . I remembered it, and . . ." He shrugged and averted his eyes.

Amanda laughed and kissed his cheek. "Sweetheart, there's no need to be embarrassed about it." She slid her arms around his broad shoulders and hugged him. "It's not unmanly to read poetry."

"I know, and I'm not embarrassed." His voice took on that defensive tone it always did when he was trying to cover up his discomfiture. "I don't read poetry, that's all. Just this one poem. And that doesn't make me a poetry reader."

Her lips twitched, but she kept a straight face. "Okay, we're agreed. You don't read poetry. But you do read . . ." She glanced at the page again. " 'The Lake Isle of Innisfree.' It's a beautiful poem. One of my favorites, too. I always feel a sense of peace when I read it."

"You do?"

"Yeah." She met his startled eyes. "You sound surprised."

"A little, I guess . . . it's just . . . my mother used to read it to me, and she always looked so . . . so . . . well, kinda peaceful and content." His face took on the thoughtful expression she'd seen before. "I'd sit in Mom's lap, with my head on her shoulder, and she'd read this poem to me. Almost every night before I went to bed. I'd just listen to her voice."

Lee smiled and laid his head back against the couch, his own voice taking on a wistful quality. "She had a beautiful voice. And I could smell her hair, and her perfume, and . . . cookies. Mom always smelled like fresh-baked cookies." He chuckled. "I guess that's because Dad and I ate them as fast as she baked them, and she had to make a new batch every day or so."

Amanda listened while Lee talked about his mother, sharing his precious memories. He'd finally opened up, and she began to understand what was bothering him. And what the "it" was he'd been searching for. Judging by the faraway look in his eyes, he was not focused on finding just _any_ house. He yearned for something that, in his mind, represented peace, contentment--home. His own Innisfree.

She wasn't sure Lee's elusive fantasy existed. After six years with the Agency, witnessing the worst of humanity, Amanda had almost given up on dreams. Almost, but not quite. Her life with Lee was a dream come true. She sighed. Maybe she couldn't make them all come true. But if there was a chance that she could make this one man's dream a reality, she was sure going to try. Tomorrow she'd call the real estate agent.

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Amanda fluffed the pillows on the couch and then straightened the books in the bookcase, listening to Phillip and Jamie's good-natured squabbling. Lee was taking the boys to the park to shoot hoops, and she intended to use the opportunity to call Mrs. Conners.

At last she heard the sound of the Wagoneer's engine, signaling her men's departure. Now that the coast was clear, she dialed the number. Luckily, Sunday afternoons were considered opportune business days for real estate agents.

As she waited for Mrs. Conners to answer, Amanda fiddled with her necklace, wondering exactly how to describe a dream. "Hello, Mrs. Conners? This is Amanda Stetson." She took a deep breath and plunged in, trying not to ramble.

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Mrs. Conners?"

"Yes, Mrs. Stetson, I'm here. I was just thinking. There _is_ some property available near Rockville. It never _occurred_ to me you and your husband would be interested. It's an old farmhouse on about ten acres of land. The owner was an elderly gentleman--rather eccentric, I've heard--who died intestate. He had no heirs, and the property reverted to the state. It's only been on the market for a week. I'm afraid it's a _little_ rundown, and I'm _sure_ it will only be a matter of time until some developer snaps it up. The price is _ridiculously _low. But you know the _government_. They just want to get rid of it."

As the realtor prattled on, Amanda listened to the chirpy voice and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Compared to Mrs. Conners, her own rambles were brief. She could imagine the woman's hands fluttering as she talked.

Amanda finally interrupted. "Yes, I would like to look at it. Could we possibly do it this afternoon?" She reached for a pencil and notepad and scribbled down the directions. No need to mention this to Lee. If it turned out to be another wild goose chase, he'd only be disappointed. Her family wasn't expected home until dinner, so she could go by herself and still be back before they returned.

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Amanda guided the Corvette up the gravel drive past what appeared to be a small stable. Remembering Lee's desire for horses, she stopped the car and got out. Picking her way through the weeds, she peered over the black plank fence and saw a field of tall grass, adjoining the stable. Shading her eyes, she caught a glimpse of sunlight reflecting off a crystalline surface, beyond a grove of oak trees. Oh my gosh! Was that a lake? As she returned to the car, her heart beat faster. Maybe this wasn't a wild goose chase after all.

After passing a smaller meadow, Amanda parked the 'Vette in front of the double garage, adjacent to the white, two-story house. She climbed the stone steps to the veranda, which encompassed the front and both sides of the house, and paused, sniffing the fresh air. The scent of pine and jasmine wafted on the gentle breeze that caressed her face. Closing her eyes, she imagined sitting on this porch with Lee, watching the sunset.

She walked the length of the veranda, listening to the songbirds flitting through the branches of majestic oaks and maples. A row of stately pines stood like sentinels along a path leading to shimmering water. Trees that had been there for a hundred years, their roots sunk deep in the earth.

Roots. A family could put down roots here.

Hearing a car door bang, she turned and smiled as a chattering Mrs. Conners bustled up the steps and unlocked the door.

Amanda walked into the foyer and into a dream. Sunlight flooded a spacious living room and shone on an imposing stone fireplace. Running her hand over the walnut mantle, she pictured long winter evenings in front of the fire, and Christmas stockings hanging from the mantelpiece.

As they strolled through the large, beautifully proportioned rooms, Mrs. Conners' voice intoned a steady rhythm. "As you can see, Mrs. Stetson, the kitchen can _easily _be modernized without losing that _sweet_ country charm. New appliances. That's _all_ it takes."

Amanda no longer heard the realtor's voice. She gazed through the bay window, framing the small breakfast nook, and caught her breath. Rose bushes bloomed, in a spectrum of color, along the split rail fence that surrounded the enormous backyard. And, in one corner, purple-dotted vines crisscrossed a grape arbor, its white paint a gleaming contrast to the lush grass.

"This house has been loved and cared for." She didn't realize she had spoken the words aloud until Mrs. Conners chimed in.

"Oh, yes. Of course, it _does_ need a little paint and wallpaper here and there. But the house is structurally sound, and the fireplaces are _completely_ functional. Even the one in the master bedroom. I'm afraid there hasn't been much work done on the landscaping since Mr. Adams's sudden demise. Heart attack, I believe. Poor dear."

Having paid due homage to poor Mr. Adams, the woman rattled on. Amanda smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, while mentally decorating her house. For she was sure this _was_ "her" house--hers and Lee's.

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"So what did Mrs. Chatterbox say this time?" Lee studied his wife as she maneuvered the Wagoneer around a slow-moving truck. After using a Class C interrogation technique to convince him to take the morning off, she'd been biting her lip and repeating his questions. A sure sign she was nervous about something.

"Oh, just that there's a house she'd like us to see. And her name is Mrs. Conners."

He grunted at her reproving frown and slouched in the seat. "Probably another waste of time."

"Don't be such a pessimist, sweetheart. You won't know until we get there." The corners of her mouth turned up in the same sly smile he'd noticed last night. Lee cocked his head at her, his curiosity mounting.

"No, but I know Mrs. Chatterbox. That woman can talk more and say less than anyone I've ever met. Including you." He flashed her a teasing grin, then laughed when Amanda swatted his arm.

"Oh, come on. I'm sure Mrs. Chatt--Mrs. Conners has done her best to help us find a house. It's not her fault you haven't liked any of them."

Lee snorted. "Just because I don't want to live in some ultra-modern, futuristic . . . fishbowl! And that's all we've seen so far, Amanda."

"Maybe this one won't be a fishbowl."

When she turned the Wagoneer into a winding lane, he glanced at his wife and noticed a smug expression on her face. They passed a stable, and Lee sat up straighter, observing only wide-open space around him. No intrusive all-alike matchbox houses in perfect rows. No jabber and clamor from neighbors. Nothing but trees and fields and quiet. He felt his pulse quicken.

She parked the car a short distance from the house, and he stared in awe at the scene before him. As they strolled around the beautiful grounds, he felt the same sense of joy and wonder he experienced on their wedding day.

After fishing a key from her purse, Amanda unlocked the door, and he followed her into the house. In a daze, he drifted from room to room, and the magic of this house--this home--enveloped him with a warmth equaled only by his Amanda's love.

"Innisfree." Lee heard his own husky whisper. "Innisfree . . . good morning."

The End.


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